Hobbit, Lord of the Rings 1. Mizimel

Tauriel walked up to look into the cell, focusing on the heat on her back that came from looking on the youngest dwarf. He was flipping a stone, engraved with familiar, yet unfamiliar runes.

"The stone in your hand – what is it?"

She watched him stop, looking to her with seriousness in his eyes.

"It is a talisman. A powerful spell lies upon it. If any but a dwarf reads the runes on this stone, they will be forever cursed." He held up the stone, prompting her to back away. If it were to be true, she would wish to be cursed, and even if it wasn't – she couldn't read dwarf runes anyway. That was why she was here afterall.

Then he spoke again, amusement in his voice. "Or not, depending on whether you believe that kind of thing. It's just a token." He smiled and she couldn't help but smile back slightly. "A runestone. My mother gave it to me so I'd remember my promise."

"What promise?"

"That I will come back to her." Tauriel looked down, remembering the same promise her own mother made, but failed to keep. Unaware of her short reminiscing, he continued. "She worries. She thinks I'm reckless."

"Are you?"

"Nah." He threw the stone up, but failed to catch it. It rolled out of the cell, but Tauriel bent down and grabbed it before it could fall into the pit below. She traced the runes with her finger, recognizing certain patterns, if not the meaning.

"Sounds like quite a party you're having up there." He said.

"It is Mereth en -Gilith, the Feast of Starlight." She came closer, sitting down elegantly in front of the bars. "All light is sacred to the Eldar, but Wood Elves love best the light of the stars."

"I always thought it is a cold light, remote and far away."

She looked up, wondering how dwarves detected soul-mates. He did not seem to recognize her, or show any indication physically like how the name on her back warmed.

"It is memory, precious and pure. Like your promise." She paused, wondering whether to hand back the stone, but decided against it. She needed to continue speaking to him, she needed to understand what the name on her back read.

"I have walked there sometimes, beyond the forest and up into the night. I have seen the world fall away and the white light forever fill the air."

"I saw a fire moon once. It rose over the pass near Dunland, huge; red and gold it was, filled the sky. We were an escort for some merchants from Ered Luin, they were trading in Silverbuck for furs. We took the Greenway south, keeping the mountain to our left, and then, this huge fire moon, right in our path. I wish I could show you..."

She smiled at the thought. "One harvest I saw a blue moon. I am not sure if you would be old enough to have seen it."

He frowned. "How old do you think me to be?"

Tauriel shrugged. "I know not of Dwarven aging, but I am turning seven hundred and eighty-four this winter."

His eyes bulged. "But you seem so young!"

Tauriel looked down, laughing slightly. "I am the second-youngest elf in all three Kingdoms at present. I am still over six hundred years away from maturity."

He sat back against the wall of his cell with a laugh. "Well, when was this blue moon?"

Tauriel hummed. "Four hundred and thirty-three years past. It will be another sixty-seven before the moon turns cerulean once more."

The dwarf laughed. "Well, I may live to see it yet. I am turning seventy-eight next Spring. Dwarf maturity is fickle, but the forty years between sixty and one hundred are the years we mature truly."

Tauriel chuckled amusedly. "In human years, I suppose with this logic, I am of age and you are not. Though, I do think in human years there would not be such a gap."

His nose wrinkled. "How are you of age and I am not? You have over six hundred years to wait – I have thirteen." He suddenly blanched. "Oh no. Thirteen years."

Tauriel looked at him with worry. "Are you well?" She gripped his token tighter.

He swallowed, smiling tightly. "Thirteen is an unlucky number. I have sudden doubts that I will live to see this quest through."

Tauriel felt her throat constrict. "Let us not talk of such things. In any case, King Thranduil keeps his word. To him, one hundred years is a blink of an eye."

A less-fake smile slipped onto his face. "I'd miss the blue moon. There are no windows."

The elleth looked up, humming. "That there are not – and I have six hundred years to wait because, translating to human years, elven maturity is at the age of twenty-five, and not eighteen. Translating dwarven years, based on the concepts you have shared, you are nearly eighteen human years."

The dwarf looked into space for a second, before looking to his fingers, counting them. "So right now, you're the human equivalent of nineteen?"

"More-or-less." She paused. "You have not shared your name."

"Neither have you." He shot back, before grinning. "I'm Kili. Who're you?"

"Tauriel." She said, before the heat became hotter. She flinched, sitting straighter as she felt her tunic start to heat uncomfortably.

Kili frowned. "What is wrong, Lady Tauriel? Are you injured?"

Tauriel grimaced. "Not quite."

Legolas suddenly came out of the shadows. "Tauriel. _Tell me your name is not burning_." His tone was angry, his elvish harsh, and she didn't think before glaring at him.

"_And if it is? I cannot read the Name upon it. I wish to understand, even if we cannot complete the Bonding both ways._"

Legolas stalked forward, gripping her shoulder before pulling her up, face in hers. "_Do you not know the consequences?_ You are a fool, Tauriel!" He slipped into Westron by accident, as Tauriel glared fiercely at him.

"I am no fool! _We both have Dwarven Names on our backs, Legolas Greenleaf!_"

He froze. "_How do you know?_"

She snorted. "_We were children together, Legolas. Do you not remember when Arwen was but an elfling, and we used to traverse Arda just to play with her in the Ford of Bruinen?_"

Legolas flushed uncharacteristically. "_You still should not say things like that here. Anyone could be listening_."

Tauriel slipped out of his grip. "And what if people were to listen? They would pay it no heed, for Names are a matter none would dare interfere with, no matter what race the name is from. And it's not like I can read it – it certainly isn't my own name." She spoke in Westron to alleviate any concern the dwarves may have had. But from the gasp she heard from the older, white-haired dwarf, she may have taken things too far.

Legolas glanced at the cell over the bridge. "Despite all of your maturity, Tauriel, you sometimes do not know when to shut your mouth. I will take my leave, and if you get into any trouble…" he shook his head, stepping back. "Captain of the Guard or no, my father would not hesitate to execute you. He holds no love for dwarves, as you know all too well." He looked down on her visibly at that, reminding her forcefully of her height.

"Thank-you for expressing your concerns, your highness." She said quietly, before he left. When she had finally heard his footsteps leave her range of hearing, she slowly turned and sunk back to the floor in front of Kili's cell. He looked at her with a worried expression.

"Are you okay?"

She would have nodded, but the burning was painful now. Hissing, she put a hand on the small of her back, cursing the burn it gave.

"A question." She grit her teeth. "Do dwarves have the names of their partner anywhere upon their skin? For burning is not part of elven culture when it comes to close proximity."

Kili stared at her, before he hurriedly started taking off his arm-brace she now only noticed, as it blended in with his clothes and leathers, before rolling up his sleeve, showing a shimmering silver piece of writing in thin elven script.

"This is your name?" He asked, coming to the cell bars, holding out his arm through the spaces. She read it, twisting her head sideways, before nodding.

"Tauriel Haldamir Súrionien." She uttered her full name for the first time in centuries, knowing its full meaning in its entirety. "That is my full name, and if I am correct, your own is upon my back and- _oh that hurts_." She whimpered as the burn increased.

"Take my hand." He said, voice strong. She took it, and almost immediately the burn disappeared, becoming colder and colder until it burnt freezing.

"It is freezing now. Is this normal for you?" She said, strained. Kili though, was wincing too, and that was when she saw her name turning blue, the skin around it having a blue spider-web effect, a single strand of red creeping up his wrist and over her fingers. She almost let go at the heat, as it moved up her fingers painfully, but Kili's grip tightened momentously.

"It'll be okay. Balin explained when I was younger, and again a few months ago." Kili grimaced in pain, and even Tauriel had to bite her tongue as the cold spread out up her back and hand, much like it was on his arm. She saw another red line on Kili's arm disappearing up his shirt, making his muscles clench. "It's the Cross-Species Effect. Uncle Thorin went through it with my Aunt Bella. She's a Hobbit, and had his name behind her ear, and he had what looked like a flower tattoo on his arm, that didn't open to reveal her name until the Bonding had already started. When it's between two Dwarven, the names just gain a red border, and the Bonded gain a Rune describing the other's soul on their palm."

Tauriel winced as the lines climbing up her back reached her arm joint, meeting the ones that had been working their way up her arm.

"In Elven culture, we have our Bonded's name on the small of our back. We only have to read it in the presence of our Bonded to Bond. If they wish, the Bonded can get married, and most do, but some just have a relationship that keep them as close as siblings. The Elven twins, Elladan and Elrohir had each of their names on their backs, and once they said their names, their relationship as twins became more tight-knit than any of those before them."

Kili winced, and Tauriel didn't get another chance to speak as pain overwhelmed her. It felt like someone was carving around Kili's name, with a fiery and icy pain so intense it wasn't funny. Kili's grip became bone-shattering, but he managed not to crush her finger beneath his grip, somehow. Then Tauriel felt the same happening on her wrist, and had to bite down hard on her lip, drawing blood.

And then there was a sharp prick on the middle of her palm, and both the pain and the lines were gone. She slumped, her composure lost for a second before she sat up again, taking her hand away. She looked to her wrist, pulling back the sleeve and seeing an identical name to the one on her back – though, this one not back-to-front due to a mirror. Kili heaved, drawing in a great breath before his other hand went to his back to rub it, the one that Tauriel had just been gripping lifting to in front of his eyes.

"'Eternal'. It suits you." Kili said, before spotting her peering curiously at her own palm. "Let me see. I'll read it for you."

Cautiously, Tauriel handed her hand back, showing him the tiny rune. He traced it with calloused fingers, murmuring softly in a guttural language that she supposed was Dwarvish.

"'Loving'. Huh. That's unusual. Not many a dwarf gets this as their Soul-Sign. Usually it's something like 'hard-working', or 'steadfast'. 'Loving' is unusual, but not uncommon. I'll tell you what's uncommon – patient. Oh, there's some variations that are more-or-less the same but can mean other things, but never that exact word." He didn't give back her hand, instead turning it around to look at it. She moved it a bit, latching their fingers, making him give her a small but obviously happy smile.

Tauriel shifted though, coming closer before turning, taking off her over-coat and lifting her shirt underneath to show his name. He sucked in a breath.

"Oh." He said, before he traced it. Tauriel shivered. "That…I didn't realize. This doesn't say Kili."

Tauriel twisted back round abruptly. "What?"

He looked at her, panicked. He reached through the bars, taking her wrists and dragging her close, eyes wide in fear.

"Tauriel, you must listen." His tone was urgent, and his grip constricting. "Dwarves have two names. Their true name, and the name they go by. I go by Kili, but my true name is upon your wrist and on your back. You must not let anyone see them."

Tauriel nodded, eyes wide. He went to let her go, but his eyes gained a hint of mischief before he leaned against the bars, pulling her forward to kiss him. She was momentarily surprised, but then she actually started to reciprocate. His grip on her wrists changed, one taking her hand while the other moved to rub her lower thigh.

After a minute, they broke apart for air. Kili was blushing, and Tauriel couldn't help but put a hand to her lips, tugging on the bottom one lightly before she finally gave him his token back.

"Here. It is yours."

He gave her a fond grin before pressing it back into her hand. "No, you must keep it for me, Mizimel."

She frowned. "What does that mean?"

He winked. "Maybe one day, I'll tell you. Keep it safe for me, Mizimel, and may the day you give it back to me never come."

Tauriel smiled, and then he whispered his name.


	2. Queen ! ?

Belladonna Baggins had always been the heart of the party. People called her the Dancing Nymph for a reason. Bella was popular, well-liked and one of the most respected Hobbits due to being a Baggins, the best dancer in all of the Shire, and one of the only people in Shire-History to have held first prize in the Best Kept Garden Competition since childhood all the way through to and past adulthood.

This, of course, obviously did not include the five years during and after the Fell Winter. There were no competitions for a long time after that terrible winter.

To the Hobbits, the only things about Bella that were less than looked-up to were her habits to absolutely ransack libraries and to never let herself become overly large. She took pride in her ability to dance, and kept in shape especially for it.

There was also the fact that her Soul-Bloom was a little different from the norm…or perhaps 'very much different' was a better term.

Like everyone on Arda, Bella had a soul-mate, but like the few times it happened, her Soul-Bloom, instead of being a coloured flower, the name of her intended inside the closed bud, was instead a set of runes. Dwarven runes, to be exact. Hobbits, were of course, very loving and caring to everyone they came across (except rude people, who they were only polite to), but when it came to one of their kind having a soul-mate among another Race, that Hobbit was very quickly labelled a spinster.

No Hobbit left the Shire in search of their Soul-Mate. It was just too dangerous.

Hobbits were creations of Yavanna, a peaceful Valar. They were grown from the very earth itself, and yes, while they were very compatible with dwarves and other races, in truth they were cowardly. Cowardice plus a naturally peaceful nature did not equal an adventurous Hobbit.

So of course, it was perfectly natural how Bella reacted to having twelve dwarves and a meddling wizard invade her home.

Bella was in utter shock, at how they would just barge into her home and ransack her pantry. That food had to last throughout the _entire winter_ and no-one could know if that winter would be like the Fell Winter. Yes, she had enough food to feed four other Hobbits, but- winter! The most dangerous time of year, and rightfully so in a Hobbits mind. Hundreds of Hobbits and Fauntlings had fallen to the terrible cold of the Fell, including Bella's own mother and father.

Seeing the empty pantry made her want to break down.

"Stop, stop, stop!" She started to cry, immediately making everyone stop. She was further upset by how many handkerchiefs and doilies were held out to her, and only with Gandalf's rough pushes, making them get out of her personal space stopped the tears falling, though they still stained her cheeks.

"Gandalf, why are you all here?" She asked, voice pitiful. The wizard's face softened, and he knelt down – still taller than her – before putting a hand on her shoulder.

"All will be explained, Belladonna. Now, do not cry. A Baggins should keep their composure in front of guests, should they not?"

A reminder of her heritage would have done wonders, if not for the obviously empty pantry behind him. She whimpered, eyes looking into the empty room. Gandalf turned and almost immediately became angry.

"Dwarves of Ered Luin, have you no shame? Completely ransacking this young woman's pantry when winter is coming on, it is quite shaming."

Bella sniffed again as Gandalf went to continue, thankful for his help, but then there was a knock on the door. Gandalf stopped.

"He is here."

He went to stand, but Bella took his wrist, giving him a glare worthy of her own mother before she stood straight, wiping her eyes and sniffing primly, dusting down her apron of remaining flour from her baking earlier in the day. Walking out of the kitchen, she opened the door and glared at the final dwarf.

"You're late." She said, to which he replied with his own glare.

"This land is a maze of epic proportions."

She snorted. "You came from the west, yes? All you had to do was cross the bridge, go along the road for two miles, take a left, go through Farmer Brandybuck's field, follow the left-to-right path for ten minutes, take three lefts, a right, a backwards turn, go around Daffodil Circus and take the ninth turning, go along the road for another eight minutes, take a sharp left and backwards turn, go for another eight minutes along the right road before turning left onto Bag Road – which would have brought you up the hill from the right." She motioned to her right, his left, while he and everyone but Gandalf looked at her with befuddlement.

"How can you remember that all without becoming confused?" He asked, baffled.

She humphed. "Hobbit-kind started in the Middle of Arda. We made our way around the entire land anticlockwise before settling in the Shire, and knew exactly where we were the entire time. The Shire is childsplay. If any Hobbit got lost, it would be a miracle if they didn't get sent to the doctor's for a check-up. By the Valar! It isn't that hard – now get inside. I think your friends left you some soup."

Bella opened the door fully before moving out of the way. "And I would appreciate it if you didn't wipe your feet anywhere other than the mat you're now standing upon, like how you're nephews wiped their _very muddy_ feet upon my mother's glory-box – which, for their sakes, I shall tell you contains my mother's wedding dress, and as such I do not want it to become muddy if I ever get to take it out."

The dwarf gave her a raised eyebrow before looking to Fili and Kili, glaring slightly, prompting them to burst into apologies. Now back to normal, Bella breathed in deep and waved them off.

"No, none of that. Gandalf, this is your chance to explain what in Yavanna's name is going on, or I will politely ask you to take your leave."

The dwarf frowned at her. "Where is your husband?"

She shot him a glare. "My Soul-Mate is not a Hobbit, and I have never left the Shire. Ergo, no husband." She brushed her hair over the runes self-consciously. "In any case, I doubt the dwarf whose name is behind my ear would want a Hobbit for a wife."

Gandalf looked at her with a grin. "Oh, I would not be so sure, Belladonna Baggins. He himself has been quite curious as to why his own name has not appeared in the normal way."

She ignored him, used to his taunts as she held out her hand to the dwarf. "Before we go any further – my name is Miss Belladonna Baggins, of the Shire."

He stood up proudly. "Thorin Oakenshield." He took her hand, shaking it, and went to speak only for both of them to suddenly cry out in pain.

Bella shook her head around, trying to make the burn behind her ear disappear. "What is happening?" She cried out as the dwarves surged forward, only for Gandalf to knock them down with his staff.

Thorin glared at her. "What are you doing, Hobbit?!" He asked, as she raised her free hand up to her ear, clamping it down behind it as tears streamed down her face.

"The name – it's burning. Gods, it hurts. Make it stop, make it stop!"

At her words, Thorin blanched before he groaned in pain, other hand reaching blindly to his arm, trying to undo the strap holding a gauntlet there.

"Balin, what is happening to us?" Thorin asked, making the white-haired dwarf look at them both worriedly.

"It's a Cross-Species Bond. You are Soul-Mates."

Bella heard what he said and yelped. "What?!" She looked to where he was trying to unstrap his gauntlet and took her hand away from the burning name – fire and ice and _pain_ – to help him with the buckle, getting it undone in a jiffy. He slipped it off, pushing up his chainmail and sleeve to show a pulsing purple flower, whose buds were opening slowly.

"That's Deadly Nightshade." Bella gasped, both in surprise and in pain as, like lightning, black lines ran down across her neck and chest to her arm, going down it to Thorin's hand. He let out a sharp noise of pain as it traversed onto his finger, connecting with the blooming Deadly Nightshade, outlining it as it opened up fully.

_Belladonna Baggins_

And then the line disappeared, a prick of pain starting on her palm before the pain completely disappeared. Immediately, Bella took her hand back, stumbling backwards as she turned, going up close to her handy beside-the-door mirror, looking at the Name behind her ear.

"Why is it outlined in purple?" She asked in a croaking voice, before she caught sight of the rune on her hand. "And what in Yavanna's Green Garden is this?!" She turned, glaring at Thorin as he straightened up again, looking at the bloomed nightshade flower on his arm bearing Belladonna's name in the middle.

"Mr Oakenshield, what is this?" She held out her hand, prompting him to look. He was silent for a few moments before he spoke.

"'Proud'."

Bella looked at him in frustrated confusion. "What does that mean?" She waved her arms around, only for the one with the rune on it to be caught and turned over by Thorin, who stepped forward into her personal space.

He held up her hand, before speaking in a soft voice. "This rune is Dwarvish, Khuzdul. It means 'proud', and is the one word that can describe me in an instant. As your Soul-Mate, you gain this mark, and I gain yours." He showed her his own palm, which held a different rune. "This means 'selfless', and it describes who you truly are in one word."

Bella looked at his palm, speechless. He closed her hand, his own around hers.

"I swear on my birth-right, you shall be crowned in gold, and robed in blue, as is the age-old adage for Dwarvish Kings to their Queens."

She blinked. "I beg your pardon? King? Queen? _Queen?_ What do you mean, 'Queen'? I can't be a Queen! I'm a _Hobbit_."

As she continued in her tirade, Balin leaned up to Gandalf.

"This is our Burglar? Our future Queen? I do hope your realize what you've done."

He shared a conspiratory wink with Balin. "Let's just say that a Hobbit on the throne will do you well, and by coming on the Quest, she will learn her duties as Queen early – including how to deal with stubborn politicians." He gazed back upon the now-arguing Soul-Mates.

Balin followed his gaze. "Oh yes, I can see that already." _Slap_. "I think Dis will like her."

Gandalf had an obscure vision of a Queen Belladonna and a Princess Dis meeting and automatically shuddered.

"The worst part is, Balin, is that this is not even a single fraction of her true potential."

The two shuddered in unison, already imagining the two monsters that would become sisters-in-law.

"Poor Thorin."

"Poor Thorin? Poor _everyone_."


	3. Even If She Were A Dwarf

Gloin glared at Legolas, and the elf glared back. Elrond saw them, and raised his eyebrow.

"Has there been a disagreement, gentlemen?"

Gloin stopped glaring to look at Elrond. "Princey over there is just remembering the fine thrashin' we gave him sixty-odd years back."

Legolas snapped back. "I hope the rest of your memory serves you better, for that is not true in the least, dwarf."

Gloin stood, bashing his axe on the ground. "My memory is impeccable, elf!"

"'Sixty-odd years back' – it was fifty-nine and a half years, you brutish thing!"

Gemli, who had been sitting down, stood up, bringing up her axe before speaking in her naturally deep voice. "Do not insult my father, you tree-shagger!"

Legolas looked her over. "You are the one from that picture of his." He frowned slowly. "I had thought the artist was being kind, but they must be a failure at carving."

Gemli's face turned red, knowing a compliment when she heard one. "Well I never! An elf, complimentin' a dwarf! It must be the end of days!"

Gloin, however, was glaring fiercer than ever. He raised his axe to Legolas' chin, pushing up slightly. "You stay away from me little girl, elf. Ishkhaqwi ai durugnul for talking to my daughter that way!"

Elrond looked over to Gandalf as the two old enemies fought, Gemli becoming embarrassed as Legolas tried to take back his comment without insulting her or her father.

"I believe I can understand why you did not wish me to seat Master Gloin beside his Highness Prince Legolas."

Aragorn snorted. "Ada, when I was a young man, Legolas would complain of the dwarves of Erebor from when they were in his father's cells. Surely you have not forgotten?"

Elrond went to speak again when Gemli suddenly bashed her axe on her father's foot.

"Father, please!" She said, ignoring how everyone was watching the argument with amusement. "Leave him alone!"

Gloin looked at Gemli, frowning. "Gemli, my girl-"

"Tauriel read the name on my arm for me."

In an instant Gloin was silent, before he uttered, "And what, my girl, does it say?"

She raised her chin, auburn beard tugging out of her beard. "I'm not telling you. Wouldna be proper, 'specially with elven customs."

Legolas looked at Gemli with confusion. "Why would you tell him to leave me be?"

She glared at him, before quickly putting on a woollen mitten and taking his wrist, dragging him out of the council. Legolas followed her down to the end of the corridor, whereupon she let go of his wrist and started rolling up her sleeve, to show delicate elven script. Legolas read it with wide eyes.

"That's my name." He said in a murmur, shocked, before a hand went to the small of his back. "I have your name upon my back."

Gemli looked him up and down. "I'm no gonna touch you until this is over, hear me? I don't want ta die because you got yourself killed."

He blinked himself out of shock, raising an eyebrow. "What is 'this'?"

"Either, the council, or the quest that's gonna happen. I visited Master Oin before I left – he had the portents. A dwarf would go on the quest to save Arda, along with four of Yavanna, a Maia of old, the Heir of Isuldir, a man of Gondor and an elf of the dying Greenwood."

Legolas pursed his lips at the end, but nodded. "What of battle? What if we were to be in trouble?"

Gemli glared. "Wear gloves." She said, before walking back off to the council, Legolas trailing after her.

* * *

><p>Legolas looked over at the dwarven woman across from him. She had become his best friend – he wasn't afraid to admit that, but what he was afraid to admit was something else entirely. How could you tell someone you were in love with them when you had never even touched?<p>

Though, it figured that he had fallen in love with her _because_ of her reluctance to touch him. She didn't want to be tied to an elf, but being separated burned – literally. Some days, he wondered how Tauriel ended up, before remembering not only was she married to Prince Kili, but had already given him three children, and was expecting a fourth, last time he saw her.

It worried him, to be honest. While the situations Tauriel and he were in, were similar, they were only that – similar. For one, Tauriel was the female in her relationship with a dwarf. Legolas – if Gemli eventually permitted it – would be the male. It worried him. It worried her. He could tell. Every time the quest settled down for the night, when no-one was willing to tell stories or it was just too cold, he saw her looking. Her emotions were clear on her face, though others might not see it.

And she trusted him.

If he told her he knew, she would immediately deny it, but she had let him touch her beard. Tauriel may not have been able to give away many secrets, but she told him the basic rules of dwarven culture, and the first rule was never, _ever_ touch another dwarves beard. It was synonymous to touching someone's privates, which had embarrassed him greatly when she told him – though she hadn't been fazed, apparently used to being brash and using coarse language when it came to dwarves. She wasn't afraid anymore, not of Thranduil, not of anyone.

He missed Tauriel, but with Gemli, the hole in his heart was more than filled.

Sighing, he watching the final ash-clouds disperse, and wondered how Frodo was doing. He had been taken from Mount Doom by the Eagles – apparently – and was dropped off in Rivendell. He, Gemli, Aragorn, Gandalf as well as Merry and Pippin were in Gondor, primarily because they were preparing for Aragorn's coronation in a month and they still had to repair the city.

Seeing she was about to wake, Legolas watched her, wondering why he loved such a small and sturdy little creature. Upon her opening her eyes, she saw him and almost immediately glared, drawing a chuckle out of him.

"What you staring at, elf?"

He grinned, winking at her. "Just a fine dwarf. She's got the most auburn beard, its unreal."

_Point to Legolas_, he thought to himself as she went red, spluttering.

"You can't just go around complimentin' someone's _beard_ like that Legolas. Why, if I did'na know better I'd say you were…" She trailed off, looking away stoutly. Legolas' grin faded, before he stood and came over to where she sat against the wall, sitting down beside her.

She glanced at him warily. "All is said and done, yes?"

He nodded without words, stretching out his right hand as he brought his knees up.

He watched her draw up some courage, smiling when she spoke.

"Would you like to Bond, elf?"

He only grabbed her hand and dealt with the pain that came with it. Because she was worth it. Even if she were a dwarf.


	4. The Fires of Li

One Hundred Years Before 'The Hobbit'

The markets of Ered Luin were a busy place, if confusing and loud. Dís was still a teen by Dwarrow standards, at age ninety-two. Upon her hundredth birthday, she would be an adult. She loved the markets though – not many knew her face, despite being almost identical to Thorin. She held a distinctly feminine appeal, with a thin slender face and a thick but ultimately willowy figure, not at all a Dwarrow shape of face unless you were of the Line of Ri.

Weaving through the people, ducking and dodging the weapons at their belts and backs, Dís wondered what life was like if she were not of the Line of Durin. Would she just be a normal Dwarrowdam? Or would she be simply dead, killed when Erebor was lost?

The thought of Erebor made her grimace and lose her footing, tripping over someone's bare blade. Gritting her teeth as she fell, Dís went to turn, to stand and shout at the Dwarrow for leaving his steel uncovered when she felt a crippling pain. Biting out a cry, she twisted and looked at the leg, immediately seeing what was wrong.

The blade had sliced deep, cutting right into the muscle, the nerve having been whacked out of use for a moment. Looking up, she went to rage at the careless Dwarrow when she saw his face.

Now, Dís knew that by tradition, her standards should be thus: strong, noble of blood, ferocious, good with his craft, and worthy of a Princess of Erebor – any good looks that came with that package were simply a bonus.

But this Dwarrow was gorgeous, simply put. With a short, but fully-grown beard of blonde with matching golden locks that reached his elbows, dark tanned skin, a worried, rectangular face, bottomless baby-blue eyes and a thin pair of lips, he was both a beauty and a curiosity. Blonde hair was not common among Dwarrows, and not many had that shade of blue eyes either – the Scientists believed it was because of a lack of pigment in general colouring, a 'genetic discrepancy'.

He knelt by her side. "My lady, do you need assistance?" He asked, bringing out a clean white cloth – clean! Nothing was clean in Ered Luin, everything was covered in mining-dust – and pressing it to her bleeding leg.

Snapping out of her daze, she glared. "If I did, you would be the last I asked – it was your own sword that cut me, oaf."

He suddenly grinned. "Oh, you've got fire in you, noble dam."

Dís' eyes narrowed. "How can you tell I'm noble?" She asked, before a loud commotion further up the street distracted her. She winced at realizing that the Royal Guards were looking for her again.

The Dwarrow looked up the street before eyeing her face. He shuffled up a little – unknowing that he acted quite like how one Sméagol, aka Gollum would move in the future – before bringing a hand to her cloak. He pulled it up by the collar quickly to show her Crest of Durin, and just as quickly dropped it. Glancing at the guards mischievously, he looked back to Dís.

"Do you want to get away from your guards, your highness?"

Dís glared but nodded stiffly, nearly crying out as he suddenly lifted her up.

"What are you doing?" She said, glaring at any Dwarrow that looked at them. While many fell down in Ered Luin, it didn't gain any interest – but a Dwarrowdam being _willingly carried?_ For the Dwarrow holding her, it would usually be suicide. Dwarrowdam's were lethal and angry being's.

But something distracted her as she felt her wrist start to freeze. It took her barely a second to grasp the meaning, but as they exited the markets, going down a side-alley and then through a doorway into a warm, clean room, she realized that the Dwarrow had realized too.

He set her down on the bed and let go, stopping the freezing feeling from spreading. He stepped back and went over to the roaring fireplace, which looked as if it hadn't been attended in a while – yet it blazed a heat and sound uncannily familiar to the Royal Forges. The fires there could burn for hours without the use of bellows and suchlike after they were properly lit, but few – _few alive_ – could light them like that.

Dís' eyes narrowed. "Who are you?" Her voice was low, gruff, and positively frightened, but he only put a pot of water over the fire to boil, tearing up a threadbare blanket and putting the piece in. She started making connections.

"Did you know I was going to be injured?"

"Not you, your highness – this is a usual precaution I take. Not all of Ered Luin have the certainty of warm beds and safety when they return home. I'm between jobs right now, but I don't need the Spymaster telling your brother that – he'll recruit anyone without one to the mines. It's why I keep my blade unsheathed, so they think I'm a Blacksmith, and I forged my own blade. I keep it shining for that very purpose – rusting blades catch attention."

Dís listened with a frown. "Why are you telling me?"

He shrugged. "Because you're my soul mate, and you'd never betray me." He said it so simply, it was hard to find an argument with it. The truth was plain for them both to see, except…

"I don't know your name, and we aren't bonded yet."

The water boiled and he brought the pot over, using a pair of tongs to take out the sterile rags and hold them over the pot as he single-handedly took off her boot and used her own dagger – when had he taken it? – to cut her leather trousers. She grimaced. The pain was there, but her Dwarven sensibilities took over and she could ignore it – but it hurt when the pressure was taken away.

His eyes met hers. "Brace yourself."

Dís hissed, but stayed still as he lowered the boiling rags to her leg, mopping up the blood before stuffing the cut until the bleeding stopped. He worked diligently, not touching her skin unless he had to. The heat drew away the uncomfortable feeling that came from the water mixing with her blood and flesh, but Dís found more numbness in focusing on the dwarrow.

She wondered why he was between jobs – maybe it was his appearance. It struck her as strange, but to more traditional dwarves, 'strange' meant trouble.

Eventually he was by the fire again, heating fresh water after tipping out the bloodied basin, washing the rags and placing in needle and wire thread meant to pierce dwarrow skin. Fidgeting, she looked around more.

The room was that – a room. The fireplace took up a third of one wall, a small kitchen space in the corner with cabinets on the walls by the door and the fire itself. She was opposite the door, on a double-bed, a proper one. She could see a tattered palate on the floor, covered in blankets and furs in front of a low table by the fire – it was probably used as a chair. In the other corner by the door, was a curtain, behind which most likely held the privy and other bathing-stuffs.

Turning her head, she saw a large chest behind the bed she was on, but other than that, the room was empty. She frowned. While she had lived in less savoury places, her homes had never been this...lonely. But as she looked closer, she saw more personal nick-knacks. A small carved horse with three of its legs missing laid on the low-table, and there was a shield-sized portrait of a family. The distance and darkness made it hard to see, but she could vaguely make out blonde hair from all but two of the maybe, two-dozen dwarves.

The sharp clap of steel falling onto stone brought Dís out of her reverie. Looking to the dwarrow, she saw him cursing under his breath as he sucked on his pinkie-finger.

"Hurt yourself?"

He made an annoyed noise before he dipped his hand into the boiling water. Dís' eyes widened, but as he brought his hand out unscathed with a rag, which he used to bind his finger, she gaped.

He saw her staring and cursed once before looking away.

"My great, great, great grandfather was not a dwarf, and while his blood was diluted, it still reacts with our own on occasion. Because of our differing Creators, Mahal and Eru, well…I am immune to fire, to heat. I am of the Line of Li."

Dís' eyes widened, and she couldn't help the girly gasp escaping her. That was why he could create the Burning Fire! He was the last descendant of its creator!

"Your name is Ali." She said, not able to stop the slight awe slipping in at the end.

Ali nodded, looking back at her with a hint of smugness. "What is that tone I hear, your highness?"

She regained her composure quickly, glaring. "Why aren't you working in the forges?"

He grimaced. "I can't forge to save my life, and I don't want charity. I can provide for myself other ways. I do rounds of the lanterns in the evenings to make sure they're lit, and I get a small profit from that – enough to keep this place, but not enough to eat." He forced a smile before starting to dry the rags over the flame.

It was a while before they spoke – in that time he had bandaged her leg and given her a few strips of meat.

"So what's life like for her Royal Highness, Princess Dís?" He asked, making her scowl.

"My name is Dís. You're my soul mate, you have the Light to call me it."

Ali smiled softly. "Dís."

She didn't like how her heart fluttered, and her arm burnt cold. Slowly, she took off her glove, making his eyes zoom in on it. She held it out, palm up.

"Thorin has been trying to make me see if others of noble blood are my soul mate – I want it to stop, now."

He didn't hesitate in taking her hands, and immediately their hands froze in position, as did their bodies. Then, black lines shot across their hands to the names hidden underneath their sleeves.

In an instance they unfroze, and Dís pushed up his sleeve as he did hers. Two names, outlined in red. There was a slight stinging in their hands before they brought them away, looking to the runes now lying on their palms innocently.

"'Enduring'." She murmured, before looking to him, where he was grinning like a mad child. He turned it around and her eyes widened.

"'Mother'. You are indeed the special one, my Lady Dís."

She hit him over the head on automatic. "Just Dís, moron."

Ali laughed, before he leant over and kissed her. She froze under him, and then so did he. They separated hastily, but stayed close, eyes wide. Dís wasn't even an adult, yet she knew what she wanted. Ali, by his looks, was easily older than her and Thorin both, but not by much. Clear though, were the emotions in his eyes.

Boldly, she kissed him, prompting him to move, one hand moving to lay on her hip, being careful of her bandaged leg before she tugged at his shirt.

"Are you sure?" He mumbled between kisses, making her growl before ripping the strings of his tunic.

It would be an eventful night.

* * *

><p>"What do you <em>mean<em>, you're getting married?" Thorin demanded, making Dís raise her chin.

"You can't stop me."

"I know that, but _who_ are you getting married to? I need to go beat him up for not asking me first."

"Thorin!" She cried, lurching forward as he went to draw his sword. "Leave him alone!" Her hand came up to grasp his shoulder, but it was a mistake as he glanced at her hand, eyes following it down.

"Mother…you are blessed, sister."

She grit her teeth. "I'm getting married to Ali, of the Line of Li – and you'd better accept it."

Thorin gritted his teeth, matching her for a second before he nodded shortly. "Fine. He is your soul mate. He would not do you any harm, or cause you pain."

"Thorin-"

"But I want to meet him first. Bring him for dinner."

Dís groaned.

* * *

><p>"What will his name be?"<p>

"Fili."

Ali stroked the small tufts of blonde hair. "He's perfect."

* * *

><p>"No, no, you can't-"<p>

Ali took her arms, kissing her softly. "I'll come back to you, Dís, you and Fili, I promise."

Her eyes filled with tears. "Please, please don't go to the mines. You took my colours, my House as your own – you can say you are a Durin without fear, you don't have to go."

He kissed the top of her head. "But I must."

* * *

><p>"There was an explosion in the mines. I'm sorry, sister." Thorin went to go forward, but Dís shuffled back, holding Fili to her like a lifeline as her other hand cradled her baby bump.<p>

"Go."

"Dís-"

"I SAID GO!"

* * *

><p>"You come back to me." Dís said to her two grinning sons, hating how they just brushed it all off. They kept grinning, even as she pressed Home Stone's into their hands. "Promise me."<p>

They promised, and set off, but she already knew she'd lost them. They were dwarves now, not her babies – her ever-present reminders of Ali were gone.

She fell asleep with tear-tracks on her face.


End file.

Hobbit, Lord of the Rings, Romance